The Wings of the Hero
by Triskell
Summary: Oliver's thoughts on Percy. A bit angsty, darkish, with happy ending. (SLASH)


Title: The Wings of the Hero  
Author: Triskell (ferngully_at@yahoo.com)  
Rating: PG-13 (slash)  
Fandom/pairing: HP, Oliver/Percy  
Disclaimer: the boys are JKR's. The lyrics (in italics) were transcribed by me, are in no particular order, and belong to Chad Kroeger. The story is mine. All mine *evil laugh*. 

Author's notes: inspired by Chad Kroeger's song "Hero". This isn't a song fic per se, though I use bits and pieces of lyrics. Story's a tad angsty and the ending is a testament to my romantic sentiments. First person; Oliver's POV. Not betaed, all faults are mine. Feedback's always very much appreciated.

  
THE WINGS OF THE HERO  
© Triskell, 11 May 2003

(Oliver) 

You're a hero. But not mine. I'm not so blind that I can't see past your mask. The walls you built around you don't matter; seven years of sharing a room with you and I know, on some sort of instinctual level. I've watched you at your weakest, though even then you would not let me close enough to comfort you.

Your strength has always amazed me, as has the fact that no one else seems to notice. Your brothers, having every opportunity, couldn't get through to you – how could I have? I wanted to, so much, so very much.

'He's a hero, that one. Never thought he had it in him.'

That's what they say about you. Sure, I do know it was necessary, it was either Fred or you – you've put duty before everything else, always. Still, it'll always be nothing more than a foolish stunt. You could've been killed and I shudder to think you might not have minded all that much. Your principles were so firm from the start, you always knew what you wanted, where you wanted to go, what you wanted to be.

It took me a while to realise, but now I know too. I don't want though, I need. I need you to look at me, I need you to give me a smile that's only for me, a moment in which I can make believe you're not indifferent. I need to be more than a schoolmate to you, just for a heart-beat. I'm not asking for perfect happiness, the once-in-a-lifetime kind of love because you couldn't give me that. You're not like that. You wouldn't welcome it, even if you wanted nothing more. You're strongest alone when no one can touch you. Still, it would be wonderful if you'd try.

Caring for someone is a tricky business – it leaves you so vulnerable, needy. Like me. And they always thought you were the weak one. You have the Gryffindor courage and the Weasley stubbornness to let you do whichever idiotic deed you believe you have to do. Like throwing yourself between one of Voldemort's cronies and your brother's body. He'd fallen down, was trying to pick himself up, but if you hadn't been there, he'd not have survived.

I'm sure he's standing at your bedside right now, down in the infirmary. The war's only just begun, really, the attack on Hogwarts came sooner than expected, but it was expected nevertheless, and we were there to prevent the worst. You were. I wish I had the right to walk down those damn stairs and see you, sit down beside you, take your hand in mine and tell you I love you.

_It isn't the love of a hero and that's why I fear it won't do._

I don't think there's a chance for my finding the courage to speak of something I've kept inside me for so long, a feverish desire, a wish romantic and yet intense to an extent that frightens me. My feelings for you are my secret, the only one I've ever felt the need to keep. Will keep, forever.

I'm supposed to be a passionate person, though it's a passion for everything but what really matters to me. I've been reduced to the image of what I was in school and I can't get rid of it. I don't want to really, it wouldn't matter even, if it weren't for your seeing me in the same light. We spoke just before the battle – civilly, politely, briefly. You turned away from me so quickly, I couldn't even see your eyes. I wanted to tell you I've missed you. But it's not something you tell a man you've never really made friends with.

_They say that a hero could save us._

You've saved your brother. Because you love him, because you felt it your duty to come to his aid when he needed you. You'll never save me, no matter how much I wish you would. You're the only one who can. I spent so much time falling in love with you – no, not you, with the idea of you that I gathered from watching you, from believing I know you. Always an observer, never near you, standing on the sidelines. I would have been there to comfort you. You didn't want me to.

"There you are, Ollie!"

The twins were the only ones who never dropped that stupid nickname. George is coming towards me, I know 'cause Fred would have a bruise on his cheek. For once I can tell them apart, but there is no satisfaction in it, as it's not an achievement of mine. I just saw him on the ground, you slumping down beside him, as if in slow motion.

"Wondered where you'd run off to."

"Just needed a bit of peace." As stupid as it sounds, given we're in the middle of a war, it's why I'm standing here, on the battlements, looking out over the Scottish landscape, the bloody hue of the horizon like a vision of your body, your hair glinting copper as you fell, struck down. A broken hero.

"You were out of the infirmary before I could say a word."

I shrug. Your blood still stains my cloak, I'm sure. I saw you fall – then George called your name, ran over to you. I did to, got there first, picked you up before I could stop myself. If anyone asks, I'll say I was closer to you – I'll give that reason for cradling your body close to mine, gasping when I felt your erratic heartbeat against my palm. You were lighter than a man your size should be, at least it seemed that way to me, though the strain in my arms would say you're no light-weight.

"Thanks for getting Percy out of there. He was a right mess and all..."

"How's Fred?" I don't want to hear about you. I've only just managed to stop trembling, pushing the feeling of your limp form slumped against me out of my head. I need your strength now, the control of one's own body that you so effortlessly mastered. 

"You could've gotten hurt there too – and you… you took out the Death Eater. Guess Percy owes you his life in a way and I just wanted to say… Gosh, Ollie, you know, this is really. I'm… I guess I just want you to know that … you know, I'm glad you were there. I just wasn't… I couldn't have … couldn't have been so calm and… and rational, I just, I blacked out seeing him fall down there. Fred's eyes were open, I mean, I knew he was ok, but Perce…"

I don't know why I'm reaching out to pull George into a hug. Perhaps because he trembles as much as I did earlier. And I can be strong for him, because I'd have been strong for you. He's got a right to be shocked, he may cling to me, shaking, he can sob if he wants to. He's your brother and he is allowed to feel this way about losing you. Almost losing you. 

It's not my place to share these emotions, never mind that I do. I close my eyes against the sunset, against my tears. George is a heavy weight against me, warm, solid, comforting, though this is not enough for me. It'll never be enough. No one can give me the security you would. Or not. Because in truth I don't know what it would be like with you. You're a stranger to me, still, and I guess you'll always be. 

George pulls back again, brushing his hand across his eyes, looking sheepish. I punch his arm lightly, good-naturedly, smiling. He looks very young right now, much more than he is. Even though he's nineteen. I'm not that much older myself, neither are you, and still I think of us as adults. We're no longer innocents, and youth is a concept we left behind a while ago.

"Thanks, Ollie. We owe you."

I shake my head, don't want to hear it. Whatever 'it' entails. I did what I needed to keep you safe. I didn't think about it, 'cause all I could do was feel, and there was such a sense of terror in me, my pulse beating hard against my neck, as if my blood was straining, wanting to break out and mingle with yours. I guess I wanted it to. If you had died, I'd have followed you, one way or another.

You laughed at me, once. When I said I understood why Romeo and Juliet had killed themselves. You told me you didn't believe in a love strong enough to give you a death wish. I knew it was a foolish concept and really, I hadn't thought it possible for me to feel it myself. To be so acutely aware that you can't continue your existence if the person you love is no longer there, irrational as it may be. I would have followed you today. I'd have died by your side, reached out to take your hand. I'd have permitted myself to touch you in death as I never have in life. Never will.

"Gotta get back down – Pomfrey'll have finished fussing over Fred by now."

"Yeah. Right. Best wishes to him."

George turns to leave and I hear myself say words I hadn't thought would ever leave my lips, "Give my love to Percy." I'm not looking at your brother, because I don't want to see the shock on his face. My voice is enough to let him know this is more than a friendly wish. Because to me it is.

_Now that the world isn't ending it's love that I'm sending to you._

I'll see you when you're back on your feet again. And we'll pass by each other again, because we weren't meant to be together in the first place. I'll keep silent – that's what I do best, after all, like you – and you'll never know. George won't tell you. 

"Thank you, Oliver. That's very kind of you." Your voice is very neutral, very calm. I feel the thumping of my heart as it races in my chest.

I don't turn around. I hear footsteps, you'll be leaving again any moment, even though you shouldn't have been here in the first place. You're in a hospital bed, pale, limp, as you were when I laid you down. Whispers behind me and I still don't look. I don't want pity from you, which is the best I can get, and from the tone of your voice, it's the reaction you're contemplating for me, the one you've schooled your features to take; that's what heroes do, they pity those below them.

"It's cold up here."

I hadn't expected you to say something, and most certainly not this. Your hand is warm on my shoulder, seeping into my bones. Perhaps it's cold, I hadn't noticed when I came up. The sun's set, it's much darker now. I shiver. I don't think it's the wind, rather the feel of your skin against mine, warm and smooth. Your other hand just brushing my neck as you settle it on my shoulder, to turn me around, with just enough pressure to make me move. I don't want to face you. But I do, because it's what you want.

Your face is tired, though the evening shadows make it hard to distinguish your features clearly. Your glasses look like Harry's when I first met him, taped together haphazardly. I don't know why you lean forward, yet I close my eyes. I don't hope. Not even when your lips settle against mine. Warm, moist, heavenly. I shouldn't put my arms around you, I have no right to make more of this kiss than it is. I might not know what it is, exactly, but it can't be what I want, need. 

You've always been stronger than me. You're stubborn as the pressure of your mouth increases, as you deepen the kiss, and though I don't move, just touch you, softly, barely brush your shoulders, I've never been closer to any other person. Across the distance of our bodies, I fall deeply into you.

_I hold on to the wings of the hero..._

I want to keep this moment forever, just then you pull away. I don't protest. My hands have settled – one on your waist, the other on your shoulder; I know it's wrong to leave them there. I'm hoping for a few more seconds of this feeling. Yeah, hoping now. Finally, irrevocably. I've been caught, I'm yours. 

"I'd like to…," you break off, shake your head, my heart sinks. My chest is hollow, empty – as if all I thought was there a moment ago had been taken away. Can you truly fall in love with someone you don't know? My head says no, it's told me so since I first informed myself of the possibility of seeing you as more than a schoolmate.

You step forward, suddenly, your breath warm against my cheek as you whisper, softly, "I'd like to get to know you."

It's merely a statement. Not a question, not a request. You know what I want and when I feel you mouth soft words against my neck, your lips tracing my jaw line before claiming mine again, I know you want the same. Instinctually, as if it had always been there. And as it turns out, you're _my_ hero after all.

Finis. 


End file.
